Dark is the forest and deep, and overhead Hang stars like seeds of light In vain, though not since they were sown was bred Anything more bright. And evermore mighty multitudes ride About, nor enter in; Of the other multitudes that dwell inside Never yet was one seen. The forest foxglove is purple, the marguerite Outside is gold and white, Nor can those that pluck either blossom greet The others, day or night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON READING -- . by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A DEATH SCENE by EMILY JANE BRONTE THE BOOK OF MARTYRS by EMILY DICKINSON NOW OR NEVER by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH; LAST POEM, ROME, MAY, 1861 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: A GHOST STORY by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON TURNED OUT FOR RENT by M. L. S. BURKE LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF LA PEROUSE'S VOYAGES by THOMAS CAMPBELL |